


Love and Blessings

by Crollalanza



Series: Advent Winter Challenge [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Beginnings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, mild spoilers for latest arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Returning to Sendai for a winter break, the last thing Wakatoshi needs is to collapse with flu. And yet he has. Fortunately his neighbour steps in to help.
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Sawamura Daichi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: Advent Winter Challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565479
Comments: 14
Kudos: 122





	Love and Blessings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phantomdieb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomdieb/gifts).



> This is part of an advent calendar of fics prompted by my friends on twitter. This is for Kris!

It was cold in Sendai, the frost nipping at the tree branches in the morning never really had a chance to thaw even as the sun rose. As Ushijima Wakatoshi trudged back to the apartment, the cold air hit the back of his throat, so he tightened the scarf around his neck and hoped that would be enough to ward off whatever germs were circulating. It had been a tiring few days: a late night flight from Germany after a hard game against the current league champions, then a breakfast meeting with a sponsor, followed by a catch up with Reon before he left for Hokkaido, had left Wakatoshi feeling tired. Weary even. Almost exhausted.

Of course that would pass. He was a great believer in the power of restorative sleep, and as long as he could catch up today, he’d be fit to see Semi, Tendou and some of the others from the old Shiratorizawa team tonight.

He paused by the front of the apartment block, rubbing at the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache which appeared to be forming no doubt because it was so cold.

Usually he avoided the lift because it could be crowded and he preferred the exercise, but today not only his legs felt heavy but his whole body, so he pressed the button at the ground floor and waited.

He heard it whirr and creak down to him, and then just as he was about to get in, a voice thundered towards him.

“Hey, hold that will you!”

And a figure carrying a stack of folders and files in their arms strode towards him.

“Floor?” Wakatoshi asked because he could see the man had his hands full.

“Six. Thanks.”

 _Same as me._ He leant back against the lift wall, wondering why his head was protesting at any sudden movement and wished for the journey to end.

“Can’t believe we’re neighbours,” said the man. “I’ve been meaning to drop by.”

“I’m not here for long,” Wakatoshi replied. “Merely to see family.”

“Ah.” The man’s voice was deep, but there appeared to be chuckle somewhere in its timbre and …

It was familiar … familiar in the way that you find an old photograph of an event you were clearly at because you’re pictured there but you have no recollection at all of why you were there or what happened.

“I work abroad,” Wakatoshi clarified.

“Yes. I didn’t think you were moving back,” the man replied.

And then, just as he was about to ask what he meant by that and how he knew, the lift came to a halt and the doors opened.

“Our floor,” the man said (rather unnecessarily in Wakatoshi’s opinion) as he sidestepped through the doors, his folders wavering precariously in his arms.

Or maybe they weren’t wavering precariously at all but Wakatoshi’s perception had changed because instead of striding purposefully to his apartment, he staggered out, crashing into the man and sending his files flying.

“What the hell!”

“Sorry, sorr—” Wakatoshi tried to explain, but his head was too spinny and suddenly the floor seemed to open up beneath his feet as he slumped downwards.

An arm caught him. A strong arm and hand hauled him to his feet, lacing under his armpits and across his back.

“Ushijima-san!”

“I’m…” He wanted to say fine, wanted to say he’d tripped on his shoelaces (but he was wearing slip-ons) but the words wouldn’t rasp out of his throat and his head felt clammy and his legs did not want to move.

“Have you eaten?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, let’s get you to your apartment. Lean on me.”

“Your files?”

“Are covering the carpet but I can come back for them.”

It was as he heaved Wakatoshi across the threshold of his apartment, and lowered him down to the sofa, that Wakatoshi finally worked out what was bothering him: (apart from the fact that his head was throbbing now) “You know who I am. Have we met?”

The man smiled a little lopsidedly, plumped up a cushion and propped it behind Wakatoshi’s head. “We’ve met,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry. I don’t—” Except it wasn’t quite true. He remembered something about the man, not his face exactly, more the voice and for some unaccountable reason the arms.

“You had other things on your mind,” the man soothed. “And we only talked briefly. Now, can I get you a glass of water and some painkillers?”

“I’m not ill. Just tired. I’ll be fine once I’ve slept.”

“You’re flushed, sweating and you collapsed on me. You clearly have a fever, which isn’t just the result of lack of sleep.” He stood back, hands on his hips as he surveyed Wakatoshi. “It’s flu season, of course. Have you had the jab?”

“Of course!” It was a team requirement, and one he wouldn’t have thought about refusing.

“In Japan?”

“No…”

“In Germany?”

“Yes. How do you—”

“And the flu strain could be different here.” He smiled a little grimly. “I’ll get your water.”

It was as he turned his back, striding towards the small kitchenette that Wakatoshi’s memory began to clear. That back. That purposeful walk. The hair, close cropped into the nape of the neck. And then the picture changed to an orange idiot jumping around and a self-assured genius of a Setter, to whom Wakatoshi had only recently softened.

“You’re a crow,” he muttered.

“Pardon.” He turned around.

“I’m sorry. I have a bad memory for faces and my head is … uh … foggy right now.” He flapped at his brow. “We shook hands.”

“Sawamura Daichi,” he replied and bowed. “Captain of Karasuno. But that was a long time ago.”

“You beat us!”

“And that sounds like an accusation,” Sawamura laughed. “Yes, we beat you. Now that’s straight, can I make it up to you by getting you a drink?”

“Water is fine.” He closed his eyes. His lids felt as if they were lined with sandpaper. “There might be some painkillers in the kitchen.”

He wandered away and soon Wakatoshi heard the tap run and the sound of cupboards opening and closing. He settled back into the cushion, stared up at the ceiling and wondered how it was possible to feel this bad.

“Here,” said a soft voice, followed by a chink as a glass of water was set down on the coffee table. “I couldn’t find any tablets, but I have some next door. I’ll get them.”

“You don’t have —” he started to say, but Sawamura waved off his reply.

Returning a short while later, he handed over a packet of painkillers and set a carton of unopened orange juice on the table.

“You don’t have many groceries in,” he chided softly as he checked his temperature.

“I’m supposed to be out tonight so wasn’t planning on cooking,” he retorted gruffly.

“You should probably cancel whatever it is,” Sawamura said.

He tried rolling his eyes, but they hurt, so instead he gave a curt nod.

“And I brought you this,” Sawamura continued, and with a slight smile he produced a thick burgundy blanket. “It’s clean, in case you’re worried.”

Assenting as Sawamura tucked it around his shoulders and across his chest, Wakatoshi levered himself up a little to swallow down the tablets. “I’m never ill,” he muttered.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“You don’t have to help.”

“I could hardly leave you collapsed on the landing.” He leant forwards, sliding a card across the table. “Ushijima, I’ll leave you to rest, but if you need anything, then I’m working from home all afternoon and my number’s there.”

“Why are you putting yourself out for me? We don’t know each other.”

“Be a pretty poor person who didn’t help,” Sawamura replied. “Besides, you’ve taken my old kouhai under your wing, so it’s the least I can do.”

“Kageyama-kun doesn’t need to be under anyone’s wing,” Wakatoshi countered, and frowned. “He’s … prickly.”

Sawamura smiled. “He talks about you, Ushijima.”

“He does?” He frowned, wondering what on earth Kageyama would say when he was so uncommunicative normally.

“You must have made an impression, which isn’t surprising.” He paused at the door frame. “I need to go out again, so I can easily pick you up some groceries.”

“I … that’s … my throat’s sore and I’m won’t I want to eat anything.”

“Leave it to me.”

Hearing the door close, Wakatoshi closed his eyes again. The blanket was soft under his chin, and smelt a little of cinnamon, so he relaxed back into the sofa and let himself sleep.

It was two hours later when he woke. A series of messages from Tendou and the others had brought him to consciousness, so he groped for his phone staring bleary-eyed at the chat going back and forth between them all. (He said all it was mainly Satori winding up Goshiki).

 **< <Sorry I am unwell and won’t be able to come tonight.>>** he typed and hoped it would suffice.

 **< <UNWELL!!!! Wakatoshi, you can’t bail on us!>>** Predictably Satori led the protests.

More messages appeared, shocked faces, crying emojis, gifs which made no sense to Wakatoshi’s muddled brain.

 **< <What’s wrong?>>** Eita asked, a little more circumspect.

**< <Flu.>> **

**< <Stay hydrated>>** Eita typed.

**< <Shall we come over? Semimi can cook u something, and I’ll keep you company.>>**

_Please no._

**< <I need sleep.>>**

**< <I can come over>>** Eita messaged. **< <I’ll leave Satori at home>>**

**< <No, really. I’d prefer to be left alone. And my neighbour’s helping out.>>**

**< <Neighbour???>>** Satori’s message appeared to set off a flurry of typing from the others.

 **< <A stranger?>>** Yamagata asked.

**< <No, I know him. It’s the Karasuno Captain.>>**

**< <Yamaguchi?>>** Goshiki asked. **< <I thought he was in Tokyo>>**

**< <It’ll be Ennoshita. He’s responsible.>>**

**< <LMAO, only you could turn that word into an insult, Shirabu-chan>> **Satori wrote.

Weary already, Wakatoshi shook his head, regretting it when his temples began to throb.

 **< <No, my captain. Sawamura>>** he sent back. **< <I will let you know when I’m well>> **

There followed a series of exclamation marks, questions on how they’d met again, surprise at the coincidence and then some kind of love heart emoji from Satori and—surprisingly—Eita, but he switched his notifications to mute and poured himself some orange juice.

It was some time later when he woke again to a _rat-a-tat_ on the door.

“Ushijima-san, it’s Sawamura.”

Holding onto the furniture and walls, he made his way to the door, and opened it a crack to see Sawamura holding up a covered dish and a paper bag. “Dinner and some groceries. Also tissues and eucalyptus.”

“You don’t have to,” he repeated, but held the door open and gestured weakly for him to come inside.

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Sawamura said. “And I know you said you weren’t hungry, but it’s just a broth. How are you feeling?”

“Lousy,” he admitted. “I think the last time I had flu I was eight. It’s … tiring.”

“Mmm, can be. Main thing is not to exert yourself and let your body recover.”

“Are you a doctor, Sawamura?”

“No, an accountant. Which I’m sure you think is incredibly boring, but … well … I like working with figures and puzzling out sums, so…” He blinked. “Sorry, you don’t want to know that. Sit down and I’ll heat the broth for you.”

“You know a lot about flu,” he said, knowing he sounded fuzzy.

“I know about the consequences,” he said softly. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t want to miss a game by not taking care of yourself now.”

“True.”

The broth was good, chicken and with enough ginger to give it a kick. As it trickled down his throat, Wakatoshi could feel the sharp edges of his larynx smooth. “Thank you. You were right, I needed to eat.”

“I’d like to tell you it’s my grandma’s recipe, but I bought it from the café on the corner. Your phone is flashing by the way.”

“It’s Tendou and the others.” He reached out to cover the screen with his hand. “I’m supposed to be seeing them.”

“I’m saying nothing.” He grinned. “Shall I leave you to it?”

“I’m going to finish this then go to bed,” Wakatoshi assured him. “Would you like your blanket back?”

“Keep it for now. That really is my grandma’s and she swears by it whenever anyone’s ill. She stitched it with love and good blessings, and at the moment, your need is greater.”

“Then… thank you. And please, send my gratitude to her.”

His phone rang as Sawamura left, and although he was intending to ignore it, seeing it was Eita, he picked up.

“Do you need anything, Wakatoshi? I can easily pop round and I promise I won’t bring Satori if he’s going to annoy you.”

“Thank you. I will be all right. I need some rest, and Sawamura-san has already been over. He brought me broth.”

“Oh…”

He could practically see the smile on Eita’s face, small and barely there, but still noticeable if you knew what to look for.

“Have fun,” he continued, his voice positively twinkling.

“I’m ill.”

“Well, when you’re better, be sure to thank Sawamura for the … uh … broth.”

“Yes. Of course.” He frowned into his phone. “What are you hinting at?”

Eita chuckled. “Wakatoshi, unless he’s drastically changed over the years, Sawamura was _hot_. So … have fun. What does he do now, by the way?”

“Accountant.”

“Oh … how dull. Satori was hoping he’d be a fire-fighter or policeman. I was rather holding out for him being a pilot. Accountant is… ah well, each to their own.”

Saying goodbye and assuring Eita he’d meet up with them as soon as he was better, Wakatoshi considered his words. Sawamura’s eyes had lit up when he’d talked about puzzles and sums, and although Wakatoshi had barely had time for schoolwork at Shiratorizawa, there’d been a part of him that appreciated the neatness and orderliness of numbers.

He got to his feet, intending to go to bed, and then looking back, he bent down to pluck up the patchwork blanket wearing it across his shoulders like a cloak.

 _Stitched with love and blessings,_ Sawamura had said. He didn’t know if it were true, had little faith in myths and lore, but there was something comforting about its presence, like being wrapped in a pair of strong arms and soothed back to health.


End file.
